Thursday 2nd November
Thurs 2nd Blog
With today off, Jackie and I drove home yesterday evening after filming a short interview with the Altermedia nationalist internet news agency. This operation is based in
It really is shocking just how backwards the movement for our peoples' ethnic and cultural survival is in
One of the songs on the album of my poems set to (other artists') music, which is scheduled for release by Great White Records before Christmas, is called 'Different Drums'. It uses the motif of the loyalist lambeg wardrum and the hand-held Irish folk bodran drum competing to be heard, and expresses the hope that the two will one day soon realise that thay have far more in common than they do with the new wave of non-European sounds, cultures and religions which are on present trends going to swamp Ireland, on both sides of the border, even faster than they will England. There are so hopeful signs, not least a growing mood among grassroots Republican activists against thier Marxist leadership's slavish and self-genocidal devotion to the multicult. "We didn't spend 700 years trying to get rid of the Brits," they complain, "to see Cathleen Hoolaghan (I hope the spelling of the female archetype representing Mother Ireland is right) forced to wear a burqa." Indeed.
Family of nations
We had an Irish tricolour on the demonstration yesterday. A little futher along the crowd a Red Hand of Ulster flapped proudly in the chilly Yorkshire breeze. To have the two flying side by side, for the same cause, must be a first for any party which stands for the British Family of Nations, or perhaps for anywhere else for that matter. I'm delighted to see it, because the indigenous folk of these islands don't have the time for the deadly luxury of sectarianism any more.
Thinking of Ireland (you'll see why in a moment, for blogs naturally tend to be written on stream of consciousness lines) last night's crystal clear sky was dominated by a more than half moon that illuminated all the outlines of the countryside around us once we got home. That brought back, from the depths of nowhere, as memories will, a recollection of a fleeting glimpse, just over 18 years ago, of a 'moonbow'. This is the nighttime equivalent of a rainbow, and it appeared - as I'm sure it only could - on a night with a full moon and a gentle drizzle from clouds covering much of the rest of the sky.
This was when we lived in an old farmhouse that I was renovating in the wild and beautiful South Shropshire hills. Amazed by the sight of this huge silvery arc - far less colour than a common or garden rainbow - I called Jackie out to see it. She came out of the house a little slowly, on account of being nine months pregnant with Richard at the time. As she came out to see the moonbow a frog made her jump as she came out of the door it went in. We stood and watched until the silver semi-circle faded, and a couple of hours later she went into labour.
I asked everyone I could think of about the phenomenon, but no one else had ever seen a moonbow, or even heard of one or of any folklore connected to it. The only exception was a neighbouring smallholder, a tall gentle Irishman with grown up children still living in Eire. He mentioned it to one of them and they sent him a cutting from their local newspaper, in which a little girl had written that she had seen a moonbow and did anyone know anything about them. So we know we didn't dream it.
So I thought I'd take a couple of minutes of your time in the hope that a reader somewhere in the world will be able to email me with some information about moonbows, their scarcity and their symbolic/mystical/folklore meaning. Or, if you're quick and a postcard is likely to get to Leeds Crown Court (full address in yesterday's entry) by Wednesday, how about a card?
Today wasn't far from being what the Welsh used to call A Day for the Queen (because when fulfilling the parish duty to repair the roads, no one worked very hard). Got up late. Pottered about. Proof-read the next Identity and gave Mark the corrections. Did a few emails. Made a few important organisational phone calls. Cooked a risotto for family tea and to use up the remains of a lamb joint. Then in the car to head back to Yorkshire, typing this as Jackie drives. A few hours' sleep tonight after a quiet pint, before returning to court and full-on politics. More tomorrow.